In 1861 a small band of Mormon pioneers found themselves halted
permanently
without purse, and what was more important, very little script in the
remote
desert valley of Dixie. In the absence of houses, clothing, food,
science,
an literature, they developed their own version of these human needs to
suit
the conditions in which they lived and the equipments and talents which
they
possessed. To some extent, they patterned their lives after the manner
they
remembered from earlier homes; but life was so different in the desert
that
the practices of civilization were not often possible, and these people
developed
unique ways of living to coincide with their unique country. Houses
were
one-room log cabins with brush roofs or tiny mud-colored huts of
"Mormon
bricks", clothing was of home-grown and home-spun cotton, coarse,
unattractive,
but precious; diets consisted of coarse meal bread, alfalfa and
pig-weed
greens, berries and wild fruit. Without the enlightenment of science,
these
pioneers developed strange superstitions and concocted fanciful
remedies
for their illnesses. Without the entertainment of theatres and
"pleasure
palaces," they frolicked at community dances, husking bees, and peach
cuttings.
Without the pleasure of books they developed the art of story-telling,
and
their fireside tales were of their migrations across the plains, their
difficulties with the Indians, and their daily struggles to establish
security
on earth and in heaven. From their own experiences and ingenuities,
these
people evolved a learning, which enabled them to live in a desert. This
learning,
their folklore, presents an intimate picture of the Dixie pioneers.

The one quality which they possessed in the most amazing
abundance was the
virtue of self-reliance. Alone in the desert except for a wife (or
two),
some children, an ox team, and a wagon, they were forced to be
resourceful
and ingenious. The first houses were built of logs. Inside of them were
tables
and benches made from cottonwood logs with holes bored in each end and
legs
fastened in the holes. The ticks on their homemade beds were filled
with
straw or cattail fuzz. A hole in the ground served as a stove, and as
there
were no matches, flint rocks were rubbed together to produce fire.
After
the first was made and the ground was very hot, the meat was put in to
roast.
Sometimes bread was cooked on a shovel.

Usually dry wood was used as fuel, but sometimes an artificial
"coal" was
made. Men went into the hills and gathered green wood, which they
brought
home and piled up to form a very solid wall in the general shape of a
teepee.
After packing the wood carefully all over with dirt, a fire was started
under
the wood in some bark which had been placed on the floor of the
structure
for this purpose. Enough air was allowed in to char the wood, but not
enough
to burn it. After several days the wood was completely charred, and the
"coal"
was made.

For food, the Dixie pioneers ate bread made from corn and
buckwheat ground
between two stones or in hand coffee mills. Later, wheat was grown and
a
flourmill was built near Washington. Alfalfa, pig-weeds, and dandelion
stems
were used for greens. "Yant," a kind of yucca which formed a head
something
like a large artichoke, was baked in a pit of hot ashes or boiled and
eaten
as a vegetable by the early pioneers or on some occasions, it was the
basis
of a pioneer wine. Miners' lettuce, sometimes called Indian lettuce and
squaw
cabbage, produced small, succulent plants used by the Indians and
pioneers
for salads. The Joshua tree, whose name came from the idea that its
branches
pointed toward the promised-land, bestowed fruit upon the newcomers.
Small
boys herding sheep or cows on the red hills of Dixie often "pieced"
upon
sego lily bulbs and bottle-stoppers which they found growing about them
in
great abundance.

As soon as possible the pioneers improved their diet with
cultivated vegetables
and fruit. They ate potatoes, beans, squash -- a great variety of
vegetables,
and peaches, pears, plums, apples, figs, and pomegranates. For a long
time
sugar was almost unheard of, and native molasses, or properly sorghum,
was
used to sweeten almost everything. They even used it in making
preserves
of squash, wild plums, apples, and peaches. These fruits and vegetables
were
boiled down with the molasses to form a kind of butter, which was
preserved
in barrels and five gallon cans and sealed with gum or wax.

The pioneers dried much meat, particularly venison. This was
done by dipping
small strips of it in very hot brine water before putting it out to
dry.
This "jerky," as it was called, was cooked in water gravy or used to
"piece"
on.

Cotton was grown in Dixie and was cultivated, cured, and spun
into cloth
by hand. At a later date, silk worms were introduced and silk dresses
were
seen in Dixie. A variety of materials were used and combined to produce
colors
for this homemade cloth. Brown color was obtained from walnuts, blue
from
indigo blossoms, yellow from rabbit brush flowers, brown-green from
peach
leaves, red from dock root and madder, black from squaw-bush, and green
from
chaparral. Burdock, sagebrush, and the tan bark from pine trees
inspired
still other shades.

I have heard that there was never anything under the sun as
ugly as the shoes
worn by the pioneers. They were made of any kind of durable material.
The
finest were of buckskin with rawhide soles, but some were made of wagon
covers
and tent cloth. Those who couldn't afford shoes went unabashed without
them,
for it was not uncommon to see people at church or even at dances sans
shoes
of any description. In fact, children under sixteen years seldom
possessed
such things. Often at dances the fortunate people who were equipped
with
shoes would lend them to their comrades for a dance. Often shoes would
change
hands (or feet) so many times during a dance that the owner was
hard-pressed
to find his shoes when the dance was over. However, he didn't worry
about
them, for they would surely be placed in the window of the tithing
office
the next day, and he could claim them then.

But food and clothing were not the only things the sharp
observation and
resourcefulness of the pioneers produced. Soap was made from the oose
root
found on the hills; lye was secured from cottonwood ashes. From the
alkali
that covers like snow the valleys of Dixie was obtained saleratus or
baking
soda; from potatoes, grated and dried, was made starch. Illumination
was
secured by burning rags soaked in grease. Hats were braided from wheat
straw
and made white by curing the straw in a barrel of sulphur. Earthen and
wooden
dishes braved the tables.

It is as if the pioneers believed that everything had been
created to help
them if they could only find out each object's use. It seems that there
was
not a stick, stone, plant, or animal that they didn't attempt to
utilize.
Especially this seems true when contemplating the various remedies
concocted
and prescribed by the pioneers to cure their illnesses. From the alkali
under
their feet to their sincere faith in the administerings of heaven, they
received
help for physical suffering. A dried Malaga grape raisin, boiled and
opened
and the fleshy part bound on the navel, was a method of disinfecting
the
navel of a new-born child. Thick, bitter molasses mixed with finely cut
horsehair
was used as a salve to cure worms. A felon was healed by holding the
affected
finger in a cup of water on a hot stove until the water began to boil.
To
stop wounds from bleeding, flour and turpentine were mixed together and
spread
on the wound. Snake bites were cut crosswise and treated with milkweed,
tobacco
juice, whiskey, or black mud. Whiskey, taken internally, was supposed
to
counteract the poison from a rattlesnake bite and was supposed not to
make
the person drunk. A slice of over-ripe cucumber laid on each eye was
good
for sore eyes. The earache was cured by blowing smoke into the ear.
Catnip
was given to small babies to cure colic. A strip of heavily peppered
fat
wrapped around the neck was prescribed for sore throat. Molasses and
sulphur
mixed together and taken in the spring of the year would clear the
blood,
and used as a salve would cure the itch. Teas made form sweet balsam
leaves,
sage, saffron, yarrow, mountain rush, and Brigham tea were good for
indigestion,
for blood purifiers, for fevers, for colds, to bring out a rash, and
for
a variety of similar complaints. The efficacy of these remedies was
probably
due to the favorable psychological attitude they produced and in some
cases
they were innocuous.

Other remedies do not sound so innocent. The following cures
must have been
most unpleasant, if not downright harmful. A child was cured from
biting
his fingernails or from displaying other nervous symptoms by putting
some
finely cut human hair in his bread and milk. To help a baby cut his
teeth,
his gums were rubbed with some kind of animal's brains, preferably a
rabbit's.
A teaspoon of mare's milk three times a day was given to a person with
whooping
cough. For chapped hands, children were compelled to bathe their hands
in
"chamber lye," or urine; this was also given to babies when they
suffered
from croup. Manure from the corrals was used to make complexion packs.
A
live chicken, cut open, was places on the chest of a person suffering
from
pneumonia. Whenever an Indian was sick, his tribe dug a pit six to
eight
feet square. This they lined and covered over with heated rocks, and
water
sprinkled on these rocks produced steam. The suffering Indian was
obliged
to crawl into this pit and steam away his illness.

Certain remedies were purely superstitious. A band made of
snake rattlers
worn on the hat was believed to prevent headaches. If one would spit on
his
finger immediately upon awaking in the morning and make a cross on his
corn,
it would soon disappear. A salt shaker under the pillow at night was
believed
to cure fits caused from worms.

In what manner the pioneers discovered these queer remedies,
it is not always
possible to know. Probably they were compounded from the material
handiest,
ad if the patient didn't die under the administrations of some new
concoction,
the remedy was remembered as a cure when a similar ailment arose.
Certain
it is that when anyone became ill, the good ladies of the village
gathered
about him with their homemade remedies and, solemnly and
sympathetically,
tried first one cure and then another, until the unfortunate either
recuperated
or passed on. Sometimes these remedies were written down and preserved
carefully
in the family bible where they may yet be found in the homes of their
descendants.

Only occasionally is it possible to know just how a special
remedy originated.
The following story, told to me by one of my students, is an example of
what
happened in one case. "When my father was a child of six years, he had
a
running sore, then called a white swelling, on his right leg. For six
he
was unable to walk. At the end of this time, the doctor advised
amputation.
That night my grandmother dreamed that the marrowbone of a freshly
killed
beef mixed with alcohol would cure the sore. The next day they tried
it.
When the doctor came a week later, daddy was so much better, he decided
to
wait a while before amputating. He never did amputate; daddy's leg
healed."
(Emily Land, one of my students, told me this story.)

Though work occupied most of the pioneers' time, they very
sensibly set aside
certain hours and sometimes days for recreation. On these gala
occasions
the pioneers chose to dance, for this was always their favorite
amusement.
Where one existed, the people would gather for their dance in the ward
house
or amusement hall, and the dance would be under the supervision of some
member
of the bishopric. Where there was no convenient building, the crowd
would
gather in somebody's dooryard to trip the light fantastic to the tune
of
a fiddle or an accordion. The musicians were always paid in produce,
dried
peaches, squash, cabbage, molasses -- whatever a man could use. Some of
the
old dances were the polka, the schottische, the quadrille, the Virginia
Reel,
Six Nations, the two-step, the snap waltz, the spat waltz, and the
polygamy
waltz, the last so named because a man could have two partners. Such
tunes
as "Yankee Doodle," "Turkey in the Straw," and "The Old Gray Mare,"
struck
up by the fiddler, set these dances into motion, and the merriment,
begun
early, sometimes continued well into the night.

The young bloods of old Dixie especially enjoyed "scalp
hunting," a custom
which led to a community dance every Friday night. All the younger
people
of the town organized and divided into two groups, each group having an
even
number of boys and girls. During the week the boys would go hunting in
their
spare time and secure as many scalps as they could of small game.
Squirrels,
rabbits, lizards, and wild fowl were their usual victim. At the end of
the
week each side counted all the scalps they had procured during the
week,
and the side having the most scalps was entertained at a dance and
supper
prepared for them by the losing side.

A "peach cutting" was another richly anticipated event. For
this, men made
scaffolds for drying the peaches at certain propitious places about the
town.
One night a crowd of young people gathered at one of the scaffolds to
set
out peaches; until an entire crop of peaches had been pitted and set
out
to dry. Various races were run to see who could cut and set out the
most
peaches in a given time, and, as often as not, the winner of such race
was
permitted to kiss all the young ladies present.

In St. George, the fourth and twenty-fourth of July
celebrations exhausted
an entire day. Early in the morning the martial band, consisting of a
bass
drum, two snare drums, and a flute, rode on a wagon from camp to camp
to
play for the families. As a matter of courtesy, the head of each family
treated
the band to yeast and molasses beer and molasses cake. At noon everyone
was
invited to a community barbecue; and in the afternoon a greased pig was
turned
loose for every boy to try to catch -- and the proud young rascal who
was
successful usually had glued his hands with molasses to help him win
his
prize.

On ordinary, less festive occasions, the pioneers found
entertainment when
they gathered at night around their campfires and hearthsides for story
telling
and ballad making. These stories and ballads were of Indian
difficulties,
Indian legends, mining adventures, lost mines, irrigation problems,
strange
dreams and visions, catastrophes, and superstitions. The story of the
last
squaw fight was well known in every home, and I am going to relate it
here
just as it appears in the "Memoirs of John R. Young, who was an
eyewitness
of this event:

"A squaw fight came about in this way: If a brave saw a maiden
that he desired,
he would go to see her father, who, according to their laws, had a
right
to see her, and bargain for her, usually paying from one to five ponies
for
her. If it happened that the girl had a lover, and he would put up as
much
purchase money as had the first applicant, then the lovers would settle
it
by a fistfight. Sometimes conditions would be such that every warrior
in
the tribe would be allowed to aid his tribesman to win his wife. It
would
then be a national war, and would be conducted on long-established
rules
and ceremonies, which the Indians hold in deep reverence.

"In 1861 at Santa Clara, I witnessed one of these tribal
fights. A young,
slender girl of Tutse gouett's band was purchased by a brave of Coal
Creek
John's band; but a brave of the Santa Clara tribe was the girl's
accepted
lover.

"The aspirants were men of influence in their respective
bands, though they
were unequal in physical ability. The man from Cedar, Ankawakeets, was
a
large, muscular, well-matured man of commanding personality, while
Panimeta,
the Clara man, was only a stripling; a youth of fine features and an
eagle
eye, bu fifty pounds lighter in weight than Ankawakeets.

"By the rules of the contest, this physical difference made it
impossible
for the lovers to settle it by single combat; hence, it was arranged by
tribal
agreement, that twenty warriors on each side should participate in the
struggle.
The ground selected was a flat just west of the old Clara fort. A
square
was marked off, the creek being chosen for the south line; a line drawn
in
the sand marked the east, west, and north boundaries.

"East of the east line was Ankawakeets' goal, which, if he
could reach with
the girl, she was his; contra, west of the west line was Panimeto's
goal,
claiming the same concessions. On opposite sides of a line running
north
and south through the center of this square were the braves, lined up,
stripped
to the skin save for the indispensable gee-string.

"At the tap of the Indian drum, the two files rushed like
angry bullocks
upon each other; a second tap of the drum, and the warriors clinched.
To
vanquish an opponent you had to throw him and hold him flat on his back
for
the supposed time it would take to scalp an actual enemy. At the end of
an
hour's exciting struggle, a few warriors on each side had been
vanquished;
but the forces remaining were equal in number, so neither party had
gained
any advantage.

"They now changed the procedure. The father led the maiden to
the central
line. She looked terrified; and well she might, for the ordeal through
which
she was to pass was a fearful one. The champions ran to the girl, and
seizing
her by the wrists, undertook to force her to their respective goals.
Soon
it became a "tug-of-war" with fifteen strapping warriors on each side.

"Gyrating from one side of the field to the other they came,
in one of their
wild swirls, to the banks of the creek and fell into the water
pell-mell
up to their necks. The girl, evidently in a swoon, was entirely
submerged,
only her mass of glossy tresses floating on the surface of the water.

"Andrew Gibbons, one of the Indian missionaries, flung himself
on the bank;
and seizing the girl's hair, he raised her head above the water.
Instantly
every brave broke his hold, and scrambled onto the bank; and
Ankawakeets
angrily demanded that Gibbons should fight him for having interfered.
Gibbons
accepted the challenge, and stepped into the ring. Tutse gave the
signal,
and Ankawakeets sprang to the fray, only to measure his length backward
on
the sand. After Gibbons had held Ankawakeets until the imagined
scalping
was performed, he stepped back and folded his arms. His vanquished
opponent
arose, stepped to the maiden, spoke a few low words, and taking the
unresisting
hand, led her to the victor and presented her as a bridal trophy for
the
white man's valor and skill.

"Gibbons accepted the maiden, and leading her to Panimeto,
gave her to him.
The presentation was followed by a war-whoop from Ankawakeets and his
braves.
Rushing to their camps they returned with guns in hand, and forming a
circle
around the girl, ordered her to march. This time it was Thales Haskell,
another
Indian missionary, who stopped Ankawakeets; and Tutsegavit again
commanded
the father to lead the girl to the center of the field until the sun
should
hide its face behind the mountain. If neither party won by that time
the
girl should be released from the father's vows.

"Again the warriors took their places, the champions grasping
again the wrists
of the trembling young squaw, on whose face was a look of despair. At
this
critical moment, the girl's younger brother, who had stood aloof with
folded
arms and clouded brow during all the struggle, bounded to his sister's
side
and, drawing his knife from the sheath, he buried it in her bosom. She
fell
lifeless into her father's arms. The brother, holding the bloody knife
on
high, said:

"I loved my sister too well to see her suffer more. If there
is any brave
who thinks I have done wrong, let him take the knife and plunge it into
my
heart. I am not afraid to die."

"Every warrior bowed his head, and turning, walked in silence
to his camp."
("Memoirs of John R. Young, by himself, The Deseret News, Salt Lake
City,
Utah. 1920. pp.299-304.)

This was the last squaw fight ever held. After this tragedy,
Jacob Hamblin,
who was well loved by the Indians, persuaded them to give up this
custom.

One favorite pioneer tale dealt with the discovery of the
Silver Reef mine,
which happens to be one of the very richest silver mines in the state
and
has only been discontinued because of its distance from the railroads
and
the difficulties encountered in mining, smelting, and distributing it.
Incidentally the discovery of silver at Silver Reef marks the first
discovery
of this metal in sandstone.

It is said that at one time some people left Leeds to go to
Pioche, then
a thriving mining town, to cut wood. On their way, they quarried a
piece
of sandstone from the location which has since been called Silver Reef
to
use as a grindstone for their axes.

When they reached Pioche, they found the miners there were
discussing the
two assayers who were then in camp, both of whom they believed to be
dishonest.
Their reason for doubting the characters of these two men lay in the
contradictory assays which they made. One of the young men invariably
gave
a favorable assay on ore brought to him for examination; the other
invariably
gave an unfavorable assay on the same ore. The miners were puzzled
which
to believe, and at length conceived a plan whereby they were sure they
could
detect the imposter.

They decided to give a piece of ore which they knew to be high
in mineral
value to the man who usually gave a negative report and a piece of ore
which
they knew to have no mineral value to the man who usually gave a
positive
report to see if their answers would be true. Accordingly, they
pulverized
a $5.00 gold piece and an ordinary rock together and gave it to be
assayed
by the man who habitually gave an unfavorable report; he reported
nothing
of value. Then they gave to the man who habitually gave a favorable
report
a bit of the pulverized grindstone which the Leeds woodcutters had
found
at Silver Reef; he reported 20 ounces of silver were to be found in it.
The
miners, convinced that both men were rascals, rode them out of town on
a
rail. However, the honest young assayer who had found 20 ounces of
silver
in a bit of sandstone from Silver Reef later traced the sandstone back
to
the cliff it was taken from and discovered the richest mine in the
Dixie
country. (Story told me by Albert Miller, present mayor of St. George.)

The pioneers could tell no end of stories concerning lost
mines. This one
is especially interesting since it is connected with the Three Nephites
who
are believed to have visited the Dixie pioneers many times.

"One day while George Holt was riding in the hills above
Enterprise, he came
upon a ledge of richly-colored rock. As he was interested in mining, he
broke
a piece of the rock off, and taking notice of several landmarks to
guide
him back to the spot, he left for town. The assayer assured him that
the
rock contained an unusually large amount of gold. With visions of
fabulous
wealth, he went home.

"That afternoon a small man with a long white beard rode a
donkey to Mr.
Holt's residence and asked for food. Mr. Holt obliged him, and engaged
him
in conversation while his wife prepared dinner. The first words uttered
by
the stranger were to the effect that Mr. Holt had found a rich mine.
Mr.
Holt confirmed the report, and asked how the stranger knew of his
prize.
The man evaded his question and merely said:

"You had better forget about this mine. If it develops, it
will be for the
ruination of your boys."

"Mr. Holt went into the house to see how the food was coming,
and was gone
for several minutes. When he returned the stranger and his donkey had
vanished
as if into thin air. The next day Mr. Holt and one of his boys went
back
to find the mine. They hunted all day, and for several succeeding days,
but
they could find no trace of the gold-bearing ledge. Nor could they find
any
landmarks; they did not even recognize the hills. To this day nothing
has
been found of the mine, and Mr. Holt believes that it has all been for
the
best." (story told by Clayton Prince, one of my students, and confirmed
by
others.)

That these Dixie pioneers spent many an hilarious evening
ballad-making and
ballad-singing is certain from an examination of some of the ballads
which
have come down to us from them. These ballads, of course, dealt mostly
with
personal experiences. The following excerpt is from a ballad sung to me
by
an old pioneer now in his 79th year. It was composed by George A. Hicks
and
his wife, Betsy, when they were called from Cottonwood to settle Dixie:

"We hitched up Jim and Bally,
All for to take a start,
But to leave my house and garden,
It almost broke my heart...

At length we reached the Black Ridge,
Where I broke my wagon down;
I could not find a carpenter
Within twenty miles around.

I cut down an old cedar tree
And made an awkward slide;
But my load, it was so heavy
Poor Betsy couldn't ride.

I turned around to Betsy
To tell her to take care,
When all upon a sudden
She struck a prickly pear.

Then Betsy blubbered out,
As loud as she could bawl,
"If I was back on Cottonwood,
I wouldn't come at all."

Another delightful ballad was one composed in 1874 by Dave
Cook and Sam Workman
who were sent from Utah to Colorado to form a guard against the
invading
Navajos. Though this ballad was criticized by Brigham Young for certain
vigorous
expressions it contains, nevertheless it is one of the most
entertaining
ballads of the Dixie pioneers. A typical passage describes Lee's Ferry:

"We traveled on a few days
Till we got to Lee's,
And there it was as hot as hell,
Without a bit of breeze.
And when the wind did come,
It all come in a flirt,
And, golly, it was hot enough
To almost burn your shirt."
(Manuscript in Washington County Library, St. George, Utah.)

Superstitions grew up about certain people and places in Dixie
and were turned
into tales for fireside repetition. The pioneers of southern Utah,
tenacious
in a religion that demanded from them the severest sacrifices, often
lacked
understanding and sympathy for those people whose religious dogma was
not
the same as their own. Most of all, they lacked sympathy for apostates,
and
often treated them in much the same manner that the Puritans treated
"witches."
The following story, told in the own words of a friend of mine will
show
you how true this is.

"In the early days of Dixie, there lived in Springdale an old
man and woman
who had once belonged to the Mormon church, but who had apostatized.
One
night a little boy in the town who was nearly well from a long illness
suddenly
broke into a tantrum, and couldn't be quieted until someone discovered
that
the evil old man was standing outside the window, glaring in; he was
dressed
in his temple clothes. It was evident that he'd bewitched the child.

"The woman, though she'd never been known to harm anyone, was
such a sinister
creature that everyone was afraid of her. It was a known fact that she
couldn't
go under steel, and each person had his own way of proving it. One day
in
the midst of a rainstorm the woman came to grandmother's home. As she
was
sitting near the stove to dry herself, someone slipped a knitting
needle
in the rafters just above her head. Her clothes began to steam, and she
looked
as though she were surely in misery, yet the poor creature couldn't
move
until the piece of steel was removed from above her head.

"One day when grandmother was home alone, she saw the witch
coming toward
her house; remembering the incident she stuck a paring knife in a crack
above
the doorway; then she invited her caller in. After several useless
attempts
to comply with the invitation the mysterious female decided she'd stay
outside
instead.

"As I said before, none knew of any harm she'd ever done, yet
she was considered
a detriment to the community, and a few cruel, half-insane young men
took
it upon themselves to rid it of her. They told her that her son, who
was
wanted for murder, was hiding at a certain place up in the hills; he
was
nearly starved and he wanted her to follow their directions and bring
him
some food. Her mother's heart made her go to the spot designated. The
young
bullies were hiding there; they beat her to death with rocks. The exact
place
where she was murdered has been pointed out to me in Zion Canyon, and I
know
four brave young people who have good reason not to doubt that it's
haunted.

"Years later, when some boys were riding on horses through the
canyon they
came upon a queer-looking old woman sitting on a rock. The boys were
anxious
to find out who she was, and since she wouldn't answer their questions,
they
started toward her. At first she was very near them, but after she'd
started
running, their horses couldn't catch her. Before their eyes she ran to
the
top of a steep mountain. It seemed to the awestricken watchers that she
flew,
for no one had ever been able to climb that mountain before. My uncle
was
one of the boys who saw her." (Story told me by Elva Hopkins, student
Dixie
High School and confirmed by others.)

In the early days another spot firmly believed to be haunted
was the dark
cave on the red hill just north of St. George. The cave itself is a
long
narrow chasm in a huge rock of red sandstone. At about the center is a
small
hole leading into a small room. Before the advent of the pioneers, the
Indian
people of this vicinity used it as a burial vault for their children. I
know
this is true for my father and mother once found a dead Indian baby in
this
cave when they were courting. The younger people of St. George believed
that
the spirits of the dead Lamanite babies were hovering near the place
where
they had once been buried and were apt to push the rocks together and
crush
unfortunates who might be squeezing their way through the chasm

Well-known superstitions, such as those concerning mirrors,
black cats, numbers,
umbrellas, and ladders, were common among the pioneer residents of
Dixie.
They believed, too, that if knives were crossed, the two persons who
saw
them first would surely quarrel; if four people shook hands together,
it
was a sign that one the couples would soon be married; if a baby saw
himself
in a mirror before he was a year old, he would die within a year; if
one
killed a frog, his cows would give bloody milk; if one nailed split
shingles
on a roof upside down in the old of the moon, they would surely curl up
on
the ends. When her butter didn't come for a long time, there was one
old
woman who believed that witches were in it. She would drive them away
with
a hot poker. Of course, stirring the cream with a hot poker heated it
and
helped the butter to "come."

Many of the old sayings of the pioneers also indicate the
superstitions which
they held. Pioneers have been heard to say and practice the wisdom of
these
thoughts: "Comb your hair after dark, and you comb sorrow into your
heart."
"If you dream of fruit out of season, you'll have trouble out of
reason.
"If you want to live and thrive, let a spider run alive."

Often, however, the old sayings of the pioneers were of a more
rational bent.
One delightful bit of philosophy which guided an old lady's entire life
was
found in this little verse:

"A kiss for a blow
Always bestow;
And angels will guard you
Wherever you go."

My grandmother used to scold my sisters and me with:

"Birds in their little nest agree,
Oh, 'tis a shameful sight
To see children of a family
Grow up and do nothing but fight."

After hearing some of the stories the Santa Clara students
tell of their
grandfather's school days, I rather believe the following verse
originated
there:

"Oh, Lord of love, come down from above,
And pity us poor scholars:
We hired a fool to teach our school,
And paid him forty dollars."

A humorous incident sometimes produced expressions which were
heard long
afterward. The story is told that a group of early citizens of Pine
Valley
were coming down to winter conference. When they arrived at Santa
Clara,
one old fellow drove his wagon onto the too thin ice, and went down,
wagon
and all, into the icy water. After a stunned silence, one of his
companions
called out,

"Brother, be ye cold?"
"Well, I ain't a damned bit sweaty," was the reply.

Needless to say, the diverted lookers-on never allowed this
incident to be
forgotten, and these expressions are still frequently heard about town.

Folklore has not yet died out of Dixie, but it is rapidly and
very properly
giving way to the more accurate, more sophisticated learning to be
found
in books. It is taking its natural place in the history of our state
and
in the literature of the world. There it can tell itself over and over
again,
and in each telling the Dixie pioneer -- resourceful, busy, happy,
credulous
-- will live again.